Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #156: The other cop

When I was 25, I tried to get a restraining order against my Dad.

This is a painful post.  Maybe it’s still too recent.  It happened 10 years ago.  Iyanla Vanzant (the author of “In the Meantime”) says that you know you are in the meantime about something if you cry when you think about the incident.  Apparently, I am still in the meantime about this.

I had been ‘in hiding’ from him for about 10 years.  I never told him where I lived, made no gesture to find him or answer his letters, but he always seemed to find me.  He showed up at my door one day while I was at work.  My roommates told me about it when I got home.

I went to the cops.  My mom took me.  I could barely walk.  I was so scared.  The cops looked at me and kept asking me questions, but I couldn’t speak.  One of the many fucked up things about my panic – I lose my power of speech.  The cop looked at my mother and said “Can she speak?”  I stood there like a silent mute and said yes, I can speak.  And apparently I can cry too.

I had to explain to the cop why I was afraid.  My breasts.  My 15  year old body.  His moaning.   I cried while telling him.  This is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. 

The cop gave me the number to the domestic violence hotline.  I called them.  They explained to me how it all worked, what to expect in the trial, etc.  I asked them about my specific judge.  They said he has a history of not giving out restraining orders. 

I had already lost before I even walked in the door of that courtroom.  Nevertheless, I hired a lawyer.  She stood next to me while I stood in front of a judge and asked him to protect me from my father.  There we were in that courtroom, with me on one side, and my dad on the other.  And I couldn’t stop crying.  The idea that I had to ask a judge to protect me from my father was so deeply painful to me that I am still in the meantime about it.  At one point, the judge left the room, and I just laid my head on the table and cried.

The judge had already yelled at me “Some things belong in a home, not a court room!”  I wonder what was happening in his home that made him yell that, especially with such emotion. 

He didn’t give me the restraining order.   I walked out of there no safer than when I walked in.

Now that my dad and I are back on speaking terms, I asked him how he found me.  He told me he bribed a crooked cop to find my address.  Yet another person in a line of people waiting to fuck me so far in this lifetime.

I could talk about the judge being so nasty to me, when I was the fucking victim in that courtroom.  Or I could talk about my Dad thinking he was above the law, and being right.  Or I could talk about the crooked cop who helped a father that had already committed incest find his daughter who was in hiding.  I still don’t understand how this man sleeps at night. 

Instead, I would like to talk about the other cop – the one who asked if I could speak, and when he found out I could, he gently asked me questions.  And when I answered his questions, he believed me.  He truly believed me. That really meant a lot to me.  I’m sorry that I don’t remember his name – my eyes were blurred with tears the whole time I was talking to him, and I just can’t remember what the badge on his chest said.  However, I say this with deepest gratitude.  Thank you, Officer.


8 Comments so far
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This made me so sad, what a disgusting excuse for a judge. You may feel like you are just a collection of “reasons” or reactions to “reasons” but truly you are a survivor and a champion to be where you are now.

Hugs from my neck of the woods…

Comment by PhoenixAscending

Reading this made me want to cry, and I would have if I were not in a public place. I don’t know what to say except that I love you, and I think you are a wonderful, beautiful person.

Comment by TreatInfamy

You’re so brave to write this, to have lived this, and to relive this. Thank you, my dear Butterfly.

Comment by sandma1half

Hey Butterfly,

I wrote this poem the other night. It’s about my own experience with the police, although it is more about my family than anything. I would link you to my blog but I didn’t post it there, since my mom reads it.

this may be triggering.

“Limitations”

I was fifteen when I lied to the police
in a room with bright lights and bright walls
that didnt speak. I was fifteen
when they asked me about my brother, and
I remembered my mother’s words about the rules, and
I didn’t know the rules, but I knew that
if I said he was young enough he wouldn’t have to go
home because he’s not an american, but
I wanted to tell them about the touching, and
I couldn’t remember our ages, but
we needed his money to stay, and
I didn’t want us to starve. I was
tired of being cold. I wanted
to cry, but I was more confused
than anything. So they asked me
if I could remember, and I didn’t want
to starve, so I said no, and it was cold, and
maybe my mother was wrong, and
when I got home I was fifteen, and I killed myself.

best wishes. ♥

Comment by TreatInfamy

Wow. This is really beautiful. Please post your blog’s website…

Comment by butterflysblog

My site is: http://chungyen.com/. I really need to update it more with thoughts other than poetry.

much love! ♥

Comment by TreatInfamy

I’m sorry you had to go through this. That judge sucks so bad. Where I live they are scared about consequences and getting sued so they tend to give out restraining orders. I got one from someone who was sexually harassing me and the judge was very nice to me and that was so scary to have that guy in the same room, the bad one, the one who scared me enough to get a restraining order. I’m sorry dear. Good and healing thoughts to you.

Kate

Comment by kate1975

[…] When I went to college, I also went into hiding from my dad.  I didn’t give out my home address or home number very easily, and I certainly never made contact with him.  After I graduated college and got a job, I kept myself hidden.  With each move, I stayed hidden.  Interestingly enough, I had the weird feeling that I was being followed (and as it turns out, I was).  […]

Pingback by Reason #196: Hide and Seek « Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids




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